


Twisted Battle of The Bastards

by FieryScribe



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Fight for Winterfell, GoT au, The Battle of The Bastards, The Claiming of Winterfell, The Twisted Battle of The Bastards
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 13:16:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18801094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FieryScribe/pseuds/FieryScribe
Summary: Jon Snow challenges Ramsay Bolton to one on one combat and he accepts. Little does Ramsay know Jon and Sansa have a few tricks up their sleeves but they will come at a cost.The Mature Rating will come into play more in the later chapters.





	Twisted Battle of The Bastards

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this more than a year ago as the first chapter and headcanon for one of my twitter accounts and I am hoping now that I have the time to be able to turn it into a proper story.
> 
> In addition to the story I made a video edit at the time the link for which I will post in the notes section at the end of the story.

“You’re right there’s no need for a battle, thousands of men don’t need to die, only one of us; let’s end this the old way you against me”  
The bastard’s offer clung on the cold near-winter wind that snapped the fabric of the Bolton banners behind him.  
He had Winterfell, he had six thousand men to Snow’s army that didn’t even reach half that size and but there was also a dark and hungry ego that dwelled within him.  
His soul dark green eyes flicked their gaze from Snow before him to Sansa, his runway wife, at her brother’s side and then he glanced back to Jon and a humourless and dark chuckle left him to herald his words. 

“I keep hearing stories about you, bastard. The way the people in the north talk about you you’re the greatest swordsman who ever walked, maybe you are that good...”  
He shrugged his left shoulder casually as a smile began to twist at his pale lips.  
“Maybe you are that good, maybe not, maybe we will find out” 

The sound of leather creaking at his left told him that Herald Karstark had tensed and was gripping his horse’s reins too tightly.  
All humour went out of his voice, it was calm, dark, and authoritative. 

“If I best you Winterfell is mine, your men will kneel and proclaim me the true Lord of Winterfell and the Warden of the North and my wife will return to my side and I keep your brother as my hostage.”

He set his jaw and watched Jon’s dark eyes grow darker as he mulled this over but it was not Jon Snow’s voice that rent the cold air it was that of his lady wife’s  
“Jon, don’t do this, there are other ways”

The smile on his lips grew to a smirk with the knowledge that he had put Ned Stark’s bastard in a position between declining his terms and seeming a dishonourable coward and accepting terms that were very clearly eating at his stomach.  
He received a slight nod before the bastard before him answered 

“Aye and if you lose your men will surrender Winterfell and leave it and the Starks will take back what belongs to them along with The Dreadfort for by law your widow would take ownership.”  
‘Widow’  
The word stuck with him and gnawed at his ego and his temper enough that it brought him to a simply nod and cold words  
“Then we have an accord”

“What? Jon!” 

He chuckled darkly and reached to unclasp his heavy cloak and threw it to Herald Karstark. He fixed his dark gaze on his wife and inclined his head in mock courtesy. 

“Don’t worry my beloved you won’t have to be a widow.” 

With a sharp jerk of his chin he indicated the snowy plane at Jon’s back and received a nod in return but beyond that he didn’t wait; his heels prodded sharply and his horse took off for the centre of the plane as she was directed. He did manage to catch on the winter wind the bastard’s words to his sister. 

“He’s arrogant and prideful, a hunter not a fighter. If I fall don’t let them...” 

The bastard’s voice faded from hearing as he reached the decided upon ground and swung down from the saddle he had been perched in.  
Word throughout the North was that Jon Snow was a fierce swordsman, on that he had not lied and were that the only word of Jon Snow he might have been concerned but the word in the North also circled that Jon Snow was as honourable as his father had been and that was going to be a problem for the honourable bastard. 

His bannermen caught up to him and dismounted their horses but Ramsay shook his head and replied sharply.  
“Stay with his men and my wife, I want neither escaping when this is through.”

He watched the two men remount their horses and give him one last glance before they rode off to pass by Jon Snow who rode out to meet him. The bastard dismounted from his horse and drew off his cloak; Jon Snow was tall but without the bulk of his cloak he did not have that same large brooding stature.  
Mirroring Snow he unbuckled his sword belt and drew his long sword from the scabbard that he let fall while he levelled his gaze on his opponent. Jon took a step left and Ramsay mirrored him and spoke. 

“It’s a fine home, Winterfell, I think I will be quite comfortable there with Lady Bolton” 

Valryian steel silently cut through the air in a swift and angry upward slash that Ramsay met to ring steel out to rend the quiet plane; with a step he tipped his blade and let the blow slide off and Jon’s momentum carry him a step forward. The bastard was strong and there was significant force behind his well placed swings and cuts that Ramsay was forced held off and sidestep without pressing any of his own attack to draw him in closer and closer. Ramsay was, as Jon told his sister, not a fighter he was a hunter, he evaded and baited his opponents just as he did with Jon. Twice he had ducked a thrust aimed for his head and knew that when Jon when for a third attempt he would anticipate the same evasion but instead of ducking down as his sword edge skated along Valyrian steel he leaned to the side and let Jon’s thrust carry him forward while Ramsay turned and bought up his elbow into his opponent’s face. His tongue skated over his bottom lip and he smirked as he backed away and watched Jon shake his head to clear it from the blow that had caught his nose and brought blood to flow from it. He knew the response, no matter how well disciplined Jon was, to pain was anger and caught the movement in the bastard’s shoulder before he aimed a vicious side slice intended for Ramsay’s kidney. Once more he turned out of the move but not away, only enough to reach back and catch the blade at his lower back, draw it, while he stepped inside Jon’s defence. He caught the cross guard of Longclaw against his own sword’s and stepped in again. Honour would have dictated that he attempt to hold off his opponent’s strength with his own until he could twist out of the lock but he knew that he quite simply lacked the strength. Catching Jon’s strong blow on one hand numbed his wrist but his left hand was faster that his right arm was weak and he brought his dagger up and drove it beneath Jon’s ribs. The strength he had attempted to hold off with one hand lessened as the air was driven from Jon’s lung when he yanked free his dagger. Ramsay’s had punctured a lung and severed vital arteries around Jon’s heart even though he had missed his mark. Darkly he chuckled and Jon stepped back and looked down, to the blood seeping through his armour. 

“You fought honourably, I will give you that, but honour will only carry you so far.” 

Jon once more tried to execute a slice, that Ramsay batted away easily, and quickly sidestepped but the exertion was too much and Jon couldn’t recover his momentum this time and instead stumbled forward to his knees.  
An agonized scream, that he recognized easily for hearing it many times, rent the air behind him and cut the deathly silence that had taken the plain; Sansa had stayed to watch. Jon’s eyes widened and Longclaw fell from his grip to the snow at his side before he fell back in the snow frosted grass, his blood seeping to pool at his left shoulder. With a nod Ramsay wiped his dagger against his own pant leg and the slid it back into its sheath and bent to pick up Longclaw from where it had fallen. Not knowing what to expect he had had his army assemble behind Winterfell in wait and knew that Jon had likely done this same with his forces.  
As he stood he looked down to his fallen opponent and spoke almost tauntingly 

“Goodbye bastard.” 

With that he turned on his heel but paused partway through his turn for the glimpse of crimson fabric he thought he caught in the tree line but on a second glance there was no one and nothing there.  
With a shrug he made his way to collect up Longclaw’s discarded scabbard and then his own. He slid both blades into their sheaths and took them both in one hand so that he could easily place one foot in his waiting horse’s stirrups and push himself into the saddle with a dark and twisted smirk of sheer satisfaction. As he rode forward he caught sight of Sansa with the two men and the girl that she and Jon had had accompanying them. He watched as his small contingent on men drew their blades and held them trained on the small group. As he neared them he could see the tears rolling down his wife’s cheeks and caught sight of her shoulder’s trembling in silent sobs. 

“YOU BASTARD!”  
He clucked his tongue against roof of his mouth as he reined up to a halt and tossed his old blade to Herald Karstark so that he could fasten Longclaw where it had once been. 

“Now that is not very nice, darling wife. I will let that go because you are mourning. Come now, with me, hold to your brother’s word and surrender.”

He watched as his wife leaned to the older knight at her side and whispered something; Ramsay rolled his dark eyes as he assumed that she told the man to stand down but he did not catch the words  
“Bring him back, I don’t care what he said.” that were actually uttered.

He sighed and held out his hand towards Sansa  
“Lady Bolton”  
His tone held a hint of irritation now but in truth nothing could mar his mood for the jumpstart and boost that his ego had just been given. 

“Honour Jon’s word”  
Was all that she said before she urged her horse forward and he caught up the reins to make certain she didn’t flee. The looks he received from Snow’s group he ignored he simply glanced to his men and stated.  
“If they move but to dismount and kneel kill them. Now kneel.” 

He watched with glee, unknowing of what Sansa had set in place, as the three before him grudgingly dismounted and lowered themselves to their knees and as per the terms uttered in near unison. 

“Lord Ramsay Bolton of Winterfell, Warden of the North”

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first attempt at anything resembling fan fiction writing so please be kind. 
> 
> Companion Video Edit: https://youtu.be/tIYwr3mh-5o
> 
> This video is more of a teaser of the story I intend.


End file.
